On-Call
by 1848EllisBell
Summary: Salt. Tequila. Lime. Lick. Swallow. Suck. She's lonely, and Josh is on-call... S3 post-eps. (Check out the link on my profile for a way to say #ThankYouTerri, to donate or help spread the word). No need to review; I hope you enjoy :)
1. Chapter 1

_"Terri Edda Miller has put her heart into telling the story of our favorite characters since Castle debuted in 2009. Through the **#ThankYouTerri** fundraising campaign, we hope to express our gratitude to the whole Castle team by donating to a cause close to Terri's heart: the Young Storytellers Foundation. Between now and December 8th, please give what you can to pass on the gift of storytelling to the next generation."_

–The **#ThankYouTerri** fundraising team.

**For more information, and to donate to this fantastic cause, head to my profile for the direct link, or check out the #ThankYouTerri twitter hashtag for links.**

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><p><strong>I know reposts irk ppl, and I know my deleting them was frustrating for many in the first place, but if you'd seen the kind of anon hate I'd been getting you might understand. It seems to have died off, so I'll put a few fics back up. If this bothers you, simply ignore the stories and move onto someone elses. If you don't mind me reposting, thank you for understanding. Yes, part of repositing is an excuse to spread word about the #ThankYouTerri campaign, and I'm not sorry about that. It's an amazing campaign, and even if you can't donate just checking out the twitter hashtag #ThankYouTerri and RTing is a HUGE deal and greatly appreciated.<br>**

**And, as always, no need to review. It's not about that for me. **

**I'll be sitting here over the next hour or so putting this entire story up, so I do apologise for any alert spam you may receive. **

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><p><strong><em>The Final Nail<em> Post-ep**

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><p><strong>February 14th 2011<strong>

The bar had been quiet when they had arrived, just a handful of people around them. Some alone, silent, hunched over, nursing a beer, others surrounded by friends, co-workers, laughing or commiserating over glass after glass of their poison of choice.

Then there's _them_, stuck in some kind of undefinable relationship, sitting opposite one another, throwing back shots, caught between spilling secrets, and just being a silent presence, a shoulder to lean on.

A few have become many – people, drinks, secrets - and the noise from those around them is increasing. He checks his phone, checks the time, surprised by just how much time has passed since they arrived at the bar, knows she is supposed to be somewhere else. He leans across the small table, holding his phone up. She glances at the display, and then slides another shot across the wooden table top, lime and a salt shaker between them.

Castle eyes the glass, but doesn't touch it. He slips his phone back in his pocket, and glances up at her. "Josh?" he asks, by way of reminding her she did in fact have a date tonight, with someone other than himself.

Beckett meets his eyes over the rim of her shot glass, before nodding. "He'll call me when he's done." Salt. Tequila. Lime. Lick. Swallow. Suck.

Castle bites down on the sour lime; the juice runs down his throat, soothing after the burn of the tequila. "Working?" he asks, his voice heavy, thick, laced with arousal he makes no attempt to hide. But if she could only see the way her tongue had grazed over her own skin, scraping up the salt, how her lips had caressed the shot glass, the ripples at her throat as she had swallowed. Kate Beckett had made love to that shot, with her lips and tongue alone.

She focuses her attention on the empty shot glass, the tip of her index finger tracing the rim, sliding down the curve of the smooth glass to the sticky surface of the table. She nudges the glass across the tabletop with her finger, lining it up with the two before. "On-call, and sure enough he was called in. But..." She meets his eyes in the darkened room, and smiles again, as if to show it's fine, she's fine, maybe even convince herself. "He'll call me when he's done."

"Saving lives?" Castle asks, a somber edge to tone, knowing the answer and resigned by the fact he can't compete with that. But, oh, that's an admission for _another _day.

"Surgery," Beckett confirms, her eyes once more on the empty glasses. "Hard to justify getting angry over that, so it is what it is."

"You're upset though." When she looks up and opens her mouth to tell him he's wrong, he holds up a hand to silence her. "You're allowed to be. It's Valentine's."

"Yeah," she agrees, her voice low, barely audible. "It is." She gives him a sad smile, and exhales a breath. "How are you doing?"

He shrugs, as if to show it's nothing, but neither of them believes it. "Been better, that's for sure," he finally admits.

"I'm sorry about Damien, Castle."

"I know."

"What a pair we make tonight." She glances at her phone, and then shoves it deep in her pocket: no missed calls or messages. "Misery loves company." She doesn't mean to bring him down, knows he is trying to keep his own mood light. They're both failing.

"Right," he says then, glancing around the poorly-lit bar, through the sea of others like themselves drinking away their pain on Valentine's, searching for someone to flag down. "Enough."

Kate heaves a sigh. "Sorry, Castle."

He shakes his head, keeps the_ It's fine, Kate, _to himself_. _"Ready to get drunk?"

She meets his eyes, sees a glimmer of hope there, a moment where his blue eyes hold their usual spark - but it's fleeting. "Yeah." Because the tequila isn't hitting her yet, and she needs to get lost for a while. And being lost with Castle makes her feel a little less alone in the wilderness of life. "Let's do this."

She waits with a heavy heart, her fingernail tapping out her misery on the shot glass, while he beckons an exuberant college girl with a tray over. He orders for her, without even a glance in her direction, because he knows exactly what she needs. Something Josh is yet to be able to do. How he knows she's in a whiskey mood is beyond her. He's clearly in one too. She wants it to burn, all the way down. Burn her, engulf her from the inside out, and help her to feel.

Because it's Valentine's Day, and Josh is on-call. 

* * *

><p>The buzz has settled in, and she has to stop. Really has to stop. She feels no desire to have to explain to Josh that she is drunk because she's been drinking with her partner while waiting for him. How long have they been here, in the crowded, loud, bar, with its sticky surfaces and a bathroom you don't break the seal for, how long? Long enough to forget sobriety. Long enough to<em> almost <em>not care that when the phone call does come it will be to let her down. She refuses to glance at her phone now, not even to check the time.

She blinks, realizes he's speaking to her. "I'm sorry, Castle. What did you say?" She meets his eyes across the small table, the haze now cleared.

A knowing smile tugs at his lips. "That it's late, and I should call you a cab."

Her phone buzzes in her pocket, and she shifts her attention, dropping her gaze down to her hand as she fishes the phone out. A simple message, overdue, but she smiles nevertheless. _It's late. I'm sorry. Skip straight to drinks? _

"Um, one minute, Castle. Just let me..." She types out a reply, quick and precise, and then gives Castle her attention once more. "Josh is done; he'll meet me here."

Castle suppresses the wave of disappointment, the selfishness he suddenly feels, and forces a smile. "Guess I'll call myself a cab then."

She reaches across the table before talking herself out of it, and places her hand over his. "You gonna be okay, Castle?" _Alone?_

His eyes flick down to her hand, and he swallows down the inevitable stumble of words before his mouth betrays him. Her touch is a comfort, her skin so soft and warm on his, and he knows he shouldn't let it affect him, but his heart beats just a little faster, more erratic than normal, and he forgets to breathe for a moment. "Yeah, don't worry about me," he tells her once he's regained control, his voice deceptively steady. "Thank you," he adds, his hand still resting beneath hers. "I needed this." The drinks. _Your company_.

She curls her fingers around his palm, and once he flips his hand over she gives it a gentle squeeze. "Martha and Alexis at home?"

He nods. "Yeah."

"Good," she replies, slipping her hand out of his, her fingers trailing along his palm as she pulls back. "Go home to your family, Castle. I'll see you tomorrow." He stands with haste, she thinks because he has a need to be gone before Josh arrives, and perhaps that's for the best, so she leaves him with one final thought. "Call me, if you need to." She falters then, feeling a little foolish. "I mean, if you need to talk. I know it's Valentine's but… You're my partner, Castle. I'm here if you need me."_ I might need you…_

He slips his coat on, and nods as if to say '_Thank you, but I won't_.' He bids her goodnight, and leaves her alone, with her whiskey and thoughts. 

* * *

><p>It's late now, past midnight, but sleep won't come. Her phone lies in her open palm, the smooth, dark, display staring up at her. Taunting her. Daring her.<p>

She is curled up on her bed, alone, the sheet her only shield. Beneath she is exposed, emotionally naked, physically nude, and she shouldn't even be considering this.

But she needs..._ Something._ An anchor. A steadfast rock in a cliff for millions of years, never giving in to erosion. Something solid. Something strong. Something to cling to.  
>She needs <em>Castle<em>.  
>She knows.<br>Hell, Josh knows. _Deep down_, she thinks, _Josh knows_. But they haven't had that conversation yet. Might never.

With a well-rehearsed touch, she selects Castle's name from her contacts, and calls him.  
>She is lonely. She is reaching out. She will admit neither of those to him.<p>

"A body?" he asks instantly, his voice a little rough. She has woken him.

"No." She hesitates then, because this isn't her. She doesn't do things like this, doesn't phone him after midnight simply to hear his voice.

"Are you okay?"

She hears the rustling, him sitting up in his bed. She hears the worry instantly filling his voice. And, God, he has every right to be concerned. Because this just isn't her.

"I'm fine," she replies in a voice a little softer than usual.

Then he understands; in those two words he finds clarity. "How was your evening?" His tone makes it clear he's well aware there were no further drinks once he had left.

"Josh was on-call tonight."

"He didn't show."

The way he says it makes her feel like she was stood up. "He phoned and apologized, about thirty minutes after you left. It's just how his life is, and I guess it's mine now."

"I'm sorry." And he means it.

"No." She sighs then, annoyed with herself. "_I'm _sorry. Go back to sleep. I'm fine."

"I wasn't sleeping," he tells her.

"No?"

"I was writing."

"In bed?"

He chuckles. "Yes, actually. Pen and paper; old school. Had to get some words out, you know how it is."

She really doesn't. When she has felt pain she has turned to the words others have put together, the sentences they formed that then eased her out of her own head and into that of someone else. She has never been the one to create those paragraphs herself, fill those pages, write that book.

"So, what's on your mind, Detective?"

He's putting emotional distance between them - not Beckett, not Kate, _Detective_- while still making her talk. She loves him for that.  
>She loves him for a lot of things but... She's not supposed to think like that.<br>She slips down a little further under the sheet and rearranges it around her chest, a shield across her heart. "Wanted to make sure you were okay," she tells him. "Today was rough."

"Well, I'm still a little drunk - your fault, by the way - and writing a tequila-fueled trip down memory lane. So, yes, I'm okay."

She blinks, runs a hand through her loose hair. "You're writing a sex scene?"

"That I am."

"You're in bed, writing a sex scene. How salacious, Castle."

"Oooh, say that again," he teases.

"Salacious?" she asks, smirking. "You like that?"

"I like the way it rolled off your tongue there, Beckett."

The sheet slips down a little, the cool air hitting her chest, creating goosebumps on her exposed skin. "Oh the things you wish you could see roll off my tongue." She presses her lips together, aware of her own slip there, keeping any further words from rolling - too easily - off that tongue of hers. Some things are meant to stay in her head.

"Rook is dying to know what Nikki can do with her tongue," he teases. Pen hovering over the paper, poised to write. "Do share, Beckett."

"Some things stay out of the books, Castle," she replies. "This is one of them."

She hears the rustle of paper, and frowns, a little concerned, a lot intrigued - but mostly suspicious. "What are you doing?"

"Putting the pen and paper down. It won't go in the book."

"No, it won't. Because it's not leaving my mouth."

"Then, please, stop reminding me of your mouth, because you're killing me here, Kate."

She inhales a sharp breath, and the sheet slips down just a little more._ Kate_. He isn't kidding around anymore.  
>Silence settles around them, just the soft static sounds of their phones, of the line between them.<br>She swallows, and it sounds too loud. He isn't supposed to say things like that, and it isn't supposed to affect her like this.  
>But it's Valentine's. And she's lonely.<br>She clamps down hard on her lower lip, the pain an attempt to snap her out of this and bring her back to her senses.  
>Her lip tingles, but her brain is still foggy, as she asks, "Why a sex scene, Castle? After today, why that?"<p>

"Why not a scene where a friend from Rook's past turns out to be a killer?"

"Yeah, that's what I meant."

"Why do you think?"

She purses her lips, contemplates his question. "To move on, and to write the furthest thing possible from that?"

"Nope."

"No?" she asks, confused. "Then why?"

"Because it's Valentine's day and I was feeling inspired."

"By?"

"Jose Cuervo, Pepe Lopez, whatever we were throwing back."

She smiles. "I see."

"For reasons I'm yet to write, Rook and Nikki are apart this evening - and he's missing her."

The sheet bunches at her waist, and oh if only he could see her now... "So he's going it alone?" she asks, a playful lilt to her tone.

"She just phoned him."

"Oh?" Her eyebrows shoot up at that revelation. "Why?"

"She misses him too."

Yes, she does. "Does she now?"

"Mmmmhmmm."

"Let me guess," she begins dryly. "Phone sex."

He takes the bait. "Want me to read you what I've written so far, Detective?" The leer is back in his voice. "A little bedtime story."

"Go right ahead," she tells him, feeling brave.

He chuckles at that. "Maybe next time."

"Oh?"

"Mmm," he replies. "When my head's a bit clearer."

"Is Nikki whispering dirty things to Rook over the line?" She is pushing him now, pushing herself.

"Her voice alone is his undoing." He pauses. It's a mere beat, but it feels unnaturally long to her. "Speaking of which, what are you wearing, Beckett?"

She rolls her eyes, because if he saw her he would expect her to, and ends the call - but her phone stays in her hand. Because she knows him. She knows he will...  
>Her phone vibrates, on silent. She smiles as she accepts the call, but she doesn't get a word out.<p>

"I was joking."

She shakes her head despite the fact he can't see her. "Nothing."

There's a pause, an inhalation of breath, before, "I'm sorry?"

"Nothing," she repeats. "Not a stitch."

"Of clothing?" He chokes the words out.

"My apartment is warm," she says in response.

"Katherine Beckett, you are a tease."

"Sound like something Nikki might do?"

"You know what else Nikki might do?"

"Hmmm?" she hums.

"Have phone sex with Rook."

"Maybe if she were single, yes." She ends the call on the _yes_.

Her phone buzzes again, but this time it's just a message. Three words from him.  
><em>Good night, Detective.<em>  
>He says it all in those three words, and he's right. They could have kept going, until all pretense was completely gone, and it was <em>them<em>. Her parting words had been dangerous, and a little too revealing. He could have phoned her back; she would have answered. But he won't, not tonight, not when they're both hurting, both too emotionally raw. Tonight, they sleep alone.

And tomorrow?

Tomorrow they won't talk about it.


	2. Chapter 2

**_Countdown_ post-ep**

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><p>She seeks out his warmth, her cotton-clad body pressing back against his naked, solid, chest. His arms hold her, tightening around her waist as she shifts back.<p>

She feigns sleep; unable to shake the cold, unable to shake the thoughts, her brain won't shut down. In the darkness of her bedroom, her back to Josh, Kate stares out at the shadows in the room with one person on her mind.

_Castle._

She hopes he has found warmth, found sleep, tonight.

* * *

><p>The day dominates his thoughts; on his couch, winter comforter wrapped around his shoulders, hot chocolate on the coffee table before him, Castle fights a losing battle with insomnia.<p>

He closes his eyes, and the walls closing in around him turn to blue ice. The blood in his veins freezes, and he clasps the blanket tighter as the chill descends upon him once more.

He opens his eyes to the soft glow of the fireplace, the warm orange shades surrounding him, and the glacier retreats once more.  
>Awake, he feels alive. Awake, he isn't dreaming of the arctic.<p>

She has Josh, he knows. A warm body to draw comfort from. But is she _okay_? The day dominates his thoughts; she almost died in his arms.

He doesn't even look at the time as he selects her name from his contacts.

* * *

><p>The noise startles her and her back presses more firmly against Josh's chest. Professionalism kicks in, and she reaches for the phone on her nightstand.<br>_Please don't let it be a murder..._  
>She glances at the display, the light from the screen forcing her eyes closed. She blinks against it, clears her vision, and isn't at all surprised by the name on the screen. She sits up, turns and runs two fingers over Josh's cheek. "I'll take this in the kitchen," she tells him, her voice soft, and he releases a low grunt in response.<p>

She answers the phone with a deft swipe of her finger across the display, and brings it to her ear as she slips out of bed. She is already padding across her bedroom floor before she speaks.  
>"Couldn't sleep?" She closes the door softly behind her.<p>

* * *

><p>"Not really," he admits. "Can't shake the cold."<p>

"I know the feeling."

Several seconds of silence fall between them, and then he hears the clicking of metal against ceramic. "Coffee might not be the best idea."

"Hot chocolate," she corrects him, her voice low but warm.

He glances at his own cooling mug untouched in front of him. "I tried that," he tells her. "Didn't help."

"Clearly," she replies. "Or you wouldn't be speaking to me right now."

"Are you okay?"

She is silent for a moment, just the clinking as she prepares her drink, but he doesn't interrupt the silence with a new question, just waits. He waits for her to be ready to answer him, because he needs to know.  
>"Today was a doozy."<p>

He smiles at her words, but it drops from his face and his lips forming a tight line. "But are you okay?"

"Getting there," she admits.

He wants to wrap his arms around her now, but he'll keep that admission to himself. He held her, briefly, after disarming the bomb, but the adrenaline of the moment had ripped all intimacy from it. It hadn't been until later - much later - when they were recounting the moment he saved the city that he had realized he had actually held her in his arms. He wants to hold her now, wrap her in his arms and pull her body to his. He wants to run his fingertips up and down the gentle curve of her spine, drop a lingering kiss to her forehead, warm her and comfort her.  
>But she's Kate, the strong, extraordinary Detective Beckett, and she would probably break his nose if he tried.<br>_Or would she...?_  
>Too much has happened between them lately, their relationship changed to the point he doesn't know what to call it anymore; she's still with Josh, and it's breaking him apart.<p>

Because he has fallen in love with her.

* * *

><p>He's quiet, for too long. She slides off the stool at the kitchen counter and carries her hot chocolate to the couch. "You okay, Castle?" she asks as she sits carefully, holding her steaming mug in one hand and pulling a blanket around her with the other. The phone held in place with her chin and shoulder it's a balancing act, but she manages to keep the contents of her drink in the mug.<p>

"Yeah. Sorry," he replies. "Just thinking."

"Me too." Her voice is barely above a whisper because Josh is sleeping. Why would it matter if he awoke, overheard? She and Castle are just two friends who went through something traumatic and are simply comforting one another.  
><em>Yeah.<em>  
><em>Right.<em>  
>There's never been anything simple about them.<p>

She curls her legs up under her, and holds the phone with her free hand, her neck and shoulder sore from holding the phone in place. "You writing?"

* * *

><p>"Thinking about it."<p>

"Nikki and Rook in a freezer?"

He shivers. "Don't say that word," he pleads.

"Sorry," she replies, her tone serious. "Sending them to a tropical island instead?"

"Tempted to go myself." He sighs, rubs a hand up his face, through his hair.

"What's stopping you?"

_You. _"Work." He pauses, struggles to find the right answer. "I write best in my office. Neutral space," he explains.

"Ah," she replies.

But it's drawn out, like she heard the real meaning behind his answer.

"You could take time off," he says. He hears her low chuckle and realizes how that sounds. "Spend it with Josh."

"I prefer to work."

And he has _no _idea how to interpret that, no idea if that was some big admission or not. He takes a chance. "What does that mean?" he asks.

"It means I prefer to work and solve murders than get lost in moments of idleness where my mind wanders back to that freez- to earlier today."

There's too much sadness clogging up the line between them; too much regret dropping down upon him. "Come over," he says, his voice little more than a whisper.

* * *

><p>His voice is so soft she's not even sure she heard him correctly. "I'm sorry?" It wasn't quite how she had expected him to respond.<p>

"Come over," he repeats, his voice stronger.

She bites down on her lower lip, a habit that's been happening more and more since he entered her life. "Why?" Because she _needs_ to know.

"I can't write," he admits, a resigned sigh leaving his lips. "The words won't come tonight. I think I'll just wrap more blankets around myself and watch _Star Wars _until I fall asleep. Company would be nice."

Her eyes dart to the closed bedroom door, and God it's so tempting to slip out the front door...  
>"I can't," she finally replies, sadness engulfing her. "Josh is here."<p>

"Yeah," he replies.

One word, but his tone says it all. "Thank you for the invitation."

"Maybe next time."

"Definitely," she replies. "Good night, Castle."

"Until tomorrow, Detective."

Kate ends the call, leaves the untouched mug on the coffee table, and pads back into her bedroom. Slipping back under the heavy blankets, she turns her back to Josh once more, guilt washing over her as his body presses to hers and his arm drops heavily over her waist. She thinks of Castle fighting the stress of the day, on his couch, alone, his family upstairs, asleep and unaware.

Sleep refuses to come.


	3. Chapter 3

**_One Life to Lose_ post-ep**

**For the sake of this chapter, Castle leaves for the Old Haunt _after_ the terrifying encounter at the loft... **

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><p>With images of his mother stuck on an endless horrifying loop in his head, of a scene no son should ever witness, Castle pushes into the comfort of The Old Haunt. The laughter of patrons celebrating over a beer, the dimly-lit interior, the stale yet familiar air, it washes over him, calming his troubles - erasing the images of his mother kissing Lance Hastings.<p>

Carving a well-worn path through the revelers, Castle makes his way to the table at the back, the one tucked neatly away in a darkened corner, where two seats will be occupied, and two will be waiting to be filled. Tonight, however, one will remain empty - and that knowledge tugs at his heart more noticeably tonight.  
><em>He misses her already.<em>  
>He smiles as he spies Ryan easing off of his bar stool, empty pint glass in hand. He raises a hand to get Ryan's attention, and holds up three fingers. Ryan shakes his head, raises his own hand: four fingers. Castle frowns, releases his pinky, and confirms the number. He watches as Ryan nods to the side, speaking to an unseen companion. Brunette hair whips around the corner, and Kate's smiling face greets him.<p>

Huh. He hadn't expected that. He resists the urge to fist pump - but only just.

He heads to the bar with an extra spring in his step, pleased she will be with them tonight. He orders the four beers, tapping four fingers on the smooth surface of the bar, in time to the soothing sounds of the piano filling the room. He smiles to himself as he expertly brings the four glasses together, and carries them back to the table.

"No tequila?" Kate asks as he carefully places the glasses on the table, the smile still on her lips.

He hesitates then, wondering if he ordered wrong. But then she chuckles and shakes her head at him. "Kidding, Castle."

"Later, perhaps," he replies, sliding onto the stool next to hers. He nods at both Ryan and Esposito in greeting.

"Didn't think you were coming," Ryan tells him.

"I got, uh..." _Scarred for life._ "..delayed."

Ryan nods, but says nothing further, more interested in the beer glass he's bringing to his lips.

"Thought you had plans," he says to Kate, his body leaning closer to hers. Over the noise of the people around them his voice is strong, audible, and he hadn't quite intended for the two sitting opposite them to hear that.

She shrugs as she sips her beer, seemingly unfazed by it all.

"On-call?"

"Yeah," she replies.

"I'm sorry."

"A new subject anytime soon would be _fantastic_." She drags out the word as she looks to the boys to save her.

"I hear you're a shipper," Esposito announces, grinning broadly.

Kate turns and shoots a glare at Castle, and if looks could kill he'd be six feet under this sticky bar floor.

"I may have mentioned something," he says in a casual tone.

"Of course," she replies, rolling her eyes.

"Hey, you can't be mad at me," he reminds her. "I got you that signed _Temptation Lane_ photo."

"No way," Ryan interjects, his blue eyes sparkling at that revelation. "Beckett's a fan?"

"How about a topic that doesn't focus on me?"

Silence descends as the three men focus on their drinks. It stretches. Beckett directs a lingering, withering glance at all three of them, hitting them with it one at a time. "Really?" she asks, her tone making it clear she's growing weary of this - in case they missed the murderous flare in her eyes. "Not one of you can think of a different topic?"

"I love this song," Ryan says then, saving her, and his three companions raise their heads and listen as the music surrounds them. Eddie's playing all their favorites tonight.

Castle feels it then, a touch so light he may have simply imagined it - but he didn't. A brush of Beckett's knee against his. He ignores it - it was accidental, right? - and drains his glass. And as he swallows the last mouthful she does it again, more deliberate. A quick, firm, bump of her knee against his. He chokes, spluttering a little as he expels the beer from his lungs and fills them with oxygen. _What the...?_ He turns to her, and she's smirking around her beer glass, ignoring his eyes.

"What just happened?" Esposito asks, eyes narrowed as he surveys the two opposite him.

"I accidentally hit Castle's knee with mine and now he thinks we're playing footsie."

She rolls her eyes for good measure, but Castle isn't buying it.

"I do not!" he shoots back, appalled she would voice such lies aloud.

And from the looks he's being thrown - _boy Beckett sure can purse her lips tight when she wants to_ - he's pretty sure _no one_ believes that denial.

Esposito rolls his eyes in the best imitation of Beckett Castle's ever seen. "Okay whatever you two are getting up to under that table just keep it on your own side."

With a precise aim, Kate swiftly kicks Espo under the table.

"Hey! What did I just say?"

She shakes her head at him, and then sneaks a surreptitious glance Castle's way before lavishing her attention on her glass once more.

"You sure are feisty tonight," Ryan observes, glancing between Castle and Beckett.

"Long, weird day," Castle reminds him. "Made weirder by the fact I caught my mother..." he struggles for the least offensive words. "Kissing someone." And saying it out loud only offends him more.

"Dude, not cool," Esposito agrees, his face twisted in disgust.

"I know right? And it's an image that just won't quit." Although there's a somber edge to his voice he _might_ be blowing it all out of proportion. A little.

Kate is unimpressed. "You work homicide," she reminds Espo. "And you," she says, looking pointedly at Castle, "You write murder mysteries and shadow homicide detectives. Yet you're both averse to something positive like Martha kissing someone?"

Castle makes an exaggerated sound of disgust and pushes his stool back. "I'm gonna need a refill to scrub that image. Anyone else?"

Ryan is the only one to decline the offer. "Jenny," he says in response.

"She's waiting for you?" Kate asks. At Ryan's nod, she adds, "You should invite her next time."

"Yeah, maybe," Ryan replies, but he won't. The offer is kind, but they like to keep the foursome as is, and they all know it. A silent pact that was passed between them the first night they drank here. He smiles nevertheless, and Kate nods, seeing the truth in his eyes.

Castle leaves them and returns to the bar. He orders, and feels a tap on his shoulder. Ryan bids him goodnight, and heads out, leaving Kate at his side.

"Thought I'd walk him out," she replies.

"That's good of you."

"Then I thought you might want help carrying the drinks back."

"Thank you."

They stand at the bar, side-by-side, Kate's arm lightly brushing against Castle's as they wait. "You okay?" he asks.

She releases a sigh, and he feels her deflate beside him. "I'm fine." She turns to meet his eyes, and then shrugs. "Sometimes I think he may as well be in Africa for the amount of times I've seen him lately."

"Work keeping him busy?"

"So he says."

He holds her gaze. She needs _something_ tonight, he can see it swirling in her eyes, and he's feeling a strong pull to find out what exactly. He opens his mouth to speak when Esposito catches his attention. "You heading out?" Castle asks, his attention diverted, the moment broken.

"Lanie, uh..." Esposito shrugs, sheepish. "I gotta go."

As he disappears towards the exit Kate releases a soft bubble of laughter.

"Murder?" Castle asks, perplexed.

"You're not that dense, Castle," she reminds him.

"Oh." It hits him. "Booty call."

"Yup," Kate says, popping the 'p' with a smack of her lips.

With a wave, he gestures to the bartender, and changes his order. A bottle in his hand, two shot glasses and a salt shaker balanced on a plate of lime wedges in Kate's, he leads them down the stairs to his basement office. She follows, silent, content to trust in whatever he has planned.

"Nice," she observes as she reaches the bottom of the stairs and looks around, taking in the room. He has altered the décor a little since she was last here, added a couch, a small coffee table, a desk. "You come down here often?"

"I've done a little writing down here," he admits.

It's quiet too, the sounds from the bar above too muffled to be a distraction. The soft lighting casts a comforting glow across the middle of the room, and it's cozy, warm, familiar. A good space.  
>Placing the plate on the table, she eases down onto the couch and smiles up at him. "You gonna stand there all day, Castle? Or are you gonna bring that bottle over here so I can forget."<p>

He moves into action with a slight jolt, quick to join her on the couch. He sits beside her, a respectable distance between them, and pours two shot glasses to almost overflowing.

Kate eyes the glasses, and a strange smile tugs at her lips.

"What?" he asks, perplexed at the humor she's finding amidst her heartache.

"This is becoming a habit," she tells him. "Hitting the tequila whenever my boyfriend's unavailable."

He freezes at the word boyfriend, at the reminder this fierce woman beside him is unattainable - at least for now. He likes to forget; he likes to think they have a chance. "Does it ease the pain?"

"Yeah."

"Then, tonight, it's okay."

"My dad would disagree." She shakes her head, disgraced with herself. "Hell, I should disagree."

"I'm happy to do this without the alcohol," he offers.

"And what, exactly, are we doing?" She quirks an eyebrow, daring him on with a look.

It's quiet, they're alone, and she's pushing him - but he _knows_ her. The moment he pushes just a little harder than she likes she'll pull back, chastise him, flee. So he picks up the shot glass and offers it to her. "We're talking."

She accepts the shot - and his answer - and licks her hand, just below the V of her thumb and forefinger, allowing him to shake the salt onto her skin. She runs her tongue across her skin once more, scraping up the salt, her eyes locked on his as she does so. She breaks the contact when she throws the shot back, avoids his gaze when she clenches the lime wedge hard between her teeth until the juice runs freely down her throat. The glass back on the table, she leans back into the soft, pliant couch cushion, and sighs.

"Better?" he asks, replacing his own empty glass beside hers on the table.

She smiles, eyes fixed straight ahead. "Yeah."

He leans back, keeping a distance between them, and tilts his head to study her profile. "Do you want to talk about it?"

She scrunches up her nose at the thought. "Not really." She turns and gives him a small smile despite the awkwardness. "But thank you for asking."

"So what are you going to do with your signed _Temptation Lane_ photo?"

"Oh, I don't know," she replies, her eyes now fixed on the detailed ceiling above. "Frame it. Hang it in my office at home."

"Really?" he asks, pleased with her response.

She shrugs and lowers her eyes back to meet his. "Maybe. I, ah, hadn't really thought about it yet. But, I love it," she promises. "Thank you."

"Good," he replies. "I'm glad."

She closes her eyes, and relaxes further back into the couch. She shifts, just a little, turning her body to his, enough for their knees to bump.

"I suppose that was accidental too," he says in a dry tone.

Her eyes remain closed, but her lips curl up in the smallest of smirks. "And you're referring to what exactly?"

He can't do it. He isn't brave enough. She isn't single. The inevitable rejection would end him.

She opens her eyes at his hesitation, nudges his knee with her own, and smiles. "Tell me a story, Castle," she says to him, her tone subdued, her voice dreamy. "Make me forget I have a boyfriend too busy to spend time with me."

All he hears is: _make me forget I have a boyfriend._ He leans into her, until his arm brushes hers and the touch of their knees, their thighs, cannot be brushed off as accidental, and he begins to weave the tale of the gathering of the signatures. She closes her eyes, leans in just a little more to steal as much of his warmth as she can, and listens. She falls asleep to the sound of his voice, to the comforting familiarity of his body next to hers.

* * *

><p>When she awakes, the room is still, silent. All muffled sound above has ceased so she knows it's late - or early, rather. <em>Close to dawn<em>, she guesses without checking her watch. The warmth encasing her palm makes it clear she has reached for his hand in her sleep and clasped it in her own. She knows she initiated it - she had been craving his touch all evening, and the soft bump of knees hadn't been quite enough. Her head rests against his upper arm, and she raises her eyes, lifts her head a little, until she sees his face. Head back against the top of the couch, he sleeps quietly, with slow, even breaths, but he's not snoring like she had imagined he might. Not that she often imagined Castle asleep beside her... Not that she will ever admit to, anyway.

With the bar above closed, she can't just sneak out. And she is loath to wake him when he sleeps so peacefully. Easing her fingers out from between his, she brings her hands to her lap, pressing them tight between her knees to keep them from betraying her. She turns, and faces the other way, her hair shielding her face, and closes her eyes once more. And he'll never know they had slept as they had, so close to being wrapped up in one another.

* * *

><p>But with her head turned away she is oblivious to the small smile playing on his lips.<br>And she'll never be privy to the four words replaying in his head:  
><em>Katherine Beckett, I never.<em>


	4. Chapter 4

**_Law and Murder_ post-ep**

* * *

><p>He had let her ramble as she had given him a detailed synopsis of <em>Forbidden Planet.<em> He really shouldn't have been at all surprised when the conversation turned to Leslie Nielsen and she started quoting various _Airplane! _scenes. Of course she was a fan, had she not shared that information before?

Whatever his own reasons for joining her, she knew they both needed this tonight: smiles and light-hearted conversation.

When he offered her his arm as they stood at the bottom of the stone steps leading up to the entrance of the Angelika she hesitated only briefly before curling her fingers around the crook of his elbow. The contact warmed her, reminded her that even though she rarely saw her boyfriend, she had other people - good friends - who cared about her, who were available to spend time with her. A good friend. That was all Castle was. Right? 

* * *

><p>Tickets, candy, popcorn, soda. They share the load as she leads the way into the cinema, soda and popcorn in her hands, soda and candy in his.<p>

"Back row?" Castle asks between sips of his sugary drink.

She pauses mid-step, turns, and frowns. "Dare I ask why?"

Her narrowed eyes make him smile. "Anne Francis stars in _Forbidden Planet_…" He doesn't quite sing the lyrics but he makes an attempt as Beckett scowls at him.

"Why am I not surprised you're a _Rocky Horror _fan, Castle?" she asks, her tone lighter, her eyebrows raised.

"Hey," he replies. "You knew what I was singing."

"That wasn't singing," she corrects, smiling, as she begins to ascend the steps again. "And this isn't a double feature."

"Back row, though?"

She doesn't respond, but continues up to the very back. Just to shut him up.

"I bet you've dressed up as Magenta," he says, a leer in his tone, as they choose their seats.

She gapes at him. "I have never. However, I may have dressed as Columbia. Once." She pauses, a hint of a smirk playing on her lips. "Why, _Rocky? C_are to share your youthful Halloween indiscretions?"

He doesn't even blink. "Frank-N-Furter, actually. Six years ago."

"I weep for Alexis's innocence."

"She missed that particular Halloween event."

"Good to know," Beckett replies.

Castle grins, and pops a couple of Milk Duds in his mouth, chewing quietly, watching the people as they enter into the dimly-lit room and choose their seats. They sit in a comfortable silence as the theater fills, the silence only broken by him occasionally trying to offer her candy and her refusing each offer.

"So, just how many times have you seen this film, Beckett?"

She grins then. "Oh, I've lost count."

"Wow. Must be good."

"It is," she replies. "But I've never seen it on the big screen before." She smiles, shrugs. "Couldn't resist."

She knows he loves these little moments, when she opens up just a little more, allows him to know things about her she had previously kept hidden. Like her love of Fifties science fiction films.  
>"Surely you've seen this before."<p>

"Don't call me Shirley!" he quips without missing a beat, keeping a straight face and not answering her question.

Beckett purses her lips, before scrunching up her nose at herself. Yeah, she had walked straight into that one.

The lights go down, and the screen lights up, and she tries not to think about how this non-date with Castle is already more enjoyable than her last several nights out with Josh. She _tries_ not to think such thoughts… But her traitorous mind goes there anyway. Her eyes flick down to his hand resting on his soda cup, and then travel up to his eyes, glued to the screen. She turns her attention back to the film, but she leans her side just a little closer to his, her body gravitating to his. Not enough to touch shoulders, just seeking out the warmth radiating off him.

He nudges her a few times during the film, commenting in a hushed tone on a scene as it unfolds. And each time she turns and smiles at him as he speaks, listening to his thoughts, pleased that he is enjoying the film, happy this is something they can share. 

* * *

><p>The movie concludes, and the lights come back on, and they walk silently out of the cinema, depositing their trash as they exit.<p>

"Remy's?" he asks as they step out into the cool March evening. "On me."

Beckett falls into step beside him, pulling her coat just a little tighter around her body as they walk. "I…" She wants to. With Josh on shift her options are to either go home and eat dinner alone, or continue to enjoy Castle's company in a booth at Remy's. The latter is so much more appealing. Too appealing. "It's late," she replies. "It's been a long day."

"You have to eat," he reminds her. "Popcorn doesn't count." Not pushing, but not quite giving in either.

She stops, lightly tapping on his arm to signal him, and they face one another on the sidewalk. "Thanks for coming tonight, Castle," she says in a warm tone. "Even though you did lie to me."

"What do you mean, Detective?"

"I saw you." She jabs a finger lightly into his chest. She notices the collar of his jacket not sitting as neatly as usual, but resists the urge to fix it. "_No beer, no women, no pool parlors, nothin'._" She quotes right back at him. "I saw your lips, Castle."

"And why were you staring at my lips?" he teases.

"Nice try." She rolls her eyes at him. "So just how many times have _you _seen it then?" When he can only smirk in response, she laughs. "I thought as much."

He sobers then, his face turning serious. "You looked like you needed company tonight," he tells her, his tone subdued. "And my offer for Remy's still stands."

Unable to stop herself she reaches up and flips his collar down, smoothing it with her palm. "I appreciate that," she says, her fingers still fussing with his collar while her brain demands to know exactly what she is doing.

His hand moves to cover hers, his fingers slipping between hers, squeezing. "Can I give you a ride home?"

Her heart pounds so hard in her chest she's convinced he must hear it. She lifts her head, her eyes moving from their joined hands, traveling up to meet his eyes. "It's not necessary," she replies, an almost apologetic edge to her tone. She watches him deflate before her very eyes, sees the disappointment wash over his face, feels a tug at her heart as his mood instantly drops. She's feeling lonely tonight, Josh isn't here for her, but Castle is, and that's dangerous. Even more dangerous is the fact she can't keep her gaze from drifting to his lips. With her hand still clasped in his, she leans in to him. She watches as his eyes flick from hers, to her lips, to her eyes again. She knows he's wondering what the hell is about to happen. She isn't even entirely sure herself. Before making a monumental mistake, Kate tilts her head and brushes a brief, chaste kiss against his cheek. She can't linger, no matter how much she wants to. Pulling back, she squeezes his hand before letting go. "Thank you for the company."

He stands still for a moment, surprised she had kissed him, even if it had only been on the cheek. "Anytime, Kate," he promises, finding his voice again.

She moves to the curb and hails a cab. He waits silently at her side until one pulls over, and then gives her a slight nod, and a small, sad smile. "Until tomorrow."

"'Night, Castle," she replies, before closing the cab's door and turning towards the driver to give her address. She doesn't look back as the cab pulls away. She can't look back.

She is with Josh.  
>Josh, who doesn't go to screenings at the Angelika with her. Josh, who doesn't get <em>Rocky Horror<em> references, or share her love for fifties science-fiction. Josh, who is never there for her.  
>She is with <em>Josh<em>.  
>Even she is aware there is something wrong in a relationship if she has to remind herself who she's dating. In her heart, she knows it will only be a matter of time before her resolve crumbles and she breaks Josh's heart.<br>But, for now, she's stuck, caught between one relationship that has nowhere to go, and another that could be the best damn thing ever, if only she will let it move forward.

If only…


	5. Chapter 5

**_The Dead Pool_ Post-ep**

* * *

><p>There are sudden occasions, fleeting moments that descend upon her swiftly, and vanish just as quick, when she is reminded of what Castle once meant to her. Each time it feels different as it penetrates her heart, looks different in her mind, always short-lived and unique, just a snowflake of a memory melting on her tongue before she can speak the words out loud.<p>

Castle could have been anything; one day, she doesn't know when, he picked up a pen, and started to write - and he never stopped. One day, she still remembers when, she picked up one of his books, and started to read his words - and never stopped.

It comes rushing back to her, in this dim, noisy bar, with air that tastes stale, and music that will drum painfully inside her skull long after she has left. She picks up her glass, watches him type into his phone, with fingers less dexterous than she is used to seeing. As the phone sways in his hand, and his eyes struggle to focus, she admires his mind, his determination, his need to get the words out.

He looks up, finds her watching him, sees her smirking over the rim of her wine glass. He places his phone back in his pocket, and raises an eyebrow at her. "What?"

It lingers this time, the warmth that expands within her, rises, fills her. It goes beyond her heart, flows through her veins, drives a heat up to her face, that she hopes the poor lighting will hide. It sinks as it fills her, pushed down with nowhere else to go. It drops to places that tingle and crave friction, and she crosses her legs tight to subdue her body's demands.

It's just the two of them now, at this table, left behind by friends who called it a night long before she was ready. Four laughing over a writer's trip to Rikers, became three - until only Castle remained. Because that's what he does. She could go home, to an empty apartment, to another evening of loneliness because Josh is on-call, again. She has to eventually. She's not ready yet.

Revelers surround them; the music grows louder, more persistent, and her heart matches the rhythm and pounds in her chest. Her lips part, the memory of a cold January evening, and the days, months, years that followed, remains, and the question flows off her tongue.

"Why write?" she asks, leaning forward to be heard, her body closing the distance, breasts grazing the top of the table. She feels the hardness of the old wooden table through her sheer top, the sharp edges as they press into her ribs, but she stays there, closing in on his personal space, cocking an eyebrow, holding his gaze. "You could have chosen any career, why did you choose to write?"

He observes her for a moment, silent as he considers her words. His eyes burn into hers, and he leans in, matching her position, like he's about to share a secret, like no one else in the world must know. "It chose me," he replies, his voice subdued so that only she can hear.

"Okay," she replies slowly. She doesn't lean back, despite the discomfort this position creates, because that can't be the end, there must be more. Castle pens novels, not short-stories.

"What?" The smile on his lips falters, the corners of his mouth twitch up as he struggles to keep it in place. He's not used to her asking such questions; he's not used to being observed.

She brings an arm up, places her bare elbow on the sticky table top, cradles her face in her palm, and watches him. She doesn't care about the surface of the table, doesn't worry about that tug of pain as her ribs protest, doesn't blink as her spine reminds her she's getting old now, that she needs to correct her posture. "I just feel there's more to this story."

He stays hunched forward, neither wanting to be the first to sever the intimacy of their positions. They're surrounded by people, but his eyes never flit from hers. "A lonely impulse of delight," he tells her, and his voice is clear as it meets her ears, mellifluous and rich, despite the barrage of sounds surrounding them, assaulting them.

She finds herself blinking rapidly, her eyes breaking the contact, shifting as her brain searches for why those words are so familiar to her. Her eyes drift back to his, and she smiles. "Yeats," she tells him, and he nods, his lips shifting down in the corners, just slightly, to show he's impressed. She fights against the smug grin that wants to break out on her face, but she's tipsy now, the wine flowing freely through her veins, and she can't be entirely sure she succeeds. "So, lonely, how?" The wine pushes her tongue up, down, moves her lips, keeps the words escaping, because she wants to know more about this man who shadows her, who irritates and frustrates her, who probably thinks he knows just how many times he has saved her life, yet will always be out by _one_.

His eyes darken, and he pulls back. He retreats to his side of the table, but his eyes still hold hers, and the sadness clouding them pushes her back until her spine is thanking her but her heart is not.  
>"I'm sorry," she tells him, her hand dropping from her face, coming down to rest in her lap, where she picks at a nail. "You don't have to answer that, Castle."<p>

She expects an uncomfortable silence to fall between them; she doesn't expect him to speak. "There are reasons why I started writing, reasons why I kept at it, and reasons why I haven't stopped." He must feel the distance that has come between them, because he slides around until he is seated in the empty chair beside her, vacated by Esposito hours ago now. "The first two weren't positive," he admits. "But now? I couldn't imagine doing anything else. I love it, Kate. I don't think I chose to be a writer at all. It chose me."

She hadn't expected there to be sadness in his answer. He had brought her joy in the aftermath of her mom's death, had presented her with a world to get lost in, a place to escape to. She had never imagined those worlds could have been his escape too.

Her chin lifts, and her eyes find his. He's so close now she can feel the heat radiating off him, and it's warming his eyes again, pushing away the sadness, and bringing back that familiar spark. Her hand skims across her thigh, until she can feel his skin beneath hers, his fingers the only sign of the emotions he is wrestling with. She lays her palm upon his hand, and it ceases the drumming of his fingers. He flips his hand, laces their fingers, squeezes, and she feels a surge of love for this man. She swallows past the sudden tightness in her throat, and says softly, "I hope one day you'll feel safe enough to share it with me." Her voice is raw, her words laced with more emotion than she usually allows.

"Soon," he replies gently, and it sends the heat through her again, filling her heart, scorching through her veins, descending, down, down, down. Her body gravitates to his, but she fights against it. Her eyes flick to his mouth, and she wants to lean in, press her lips to his, slide onto his lap, hold his shirt in her fists, and plunge her tongue into that hot, wet, cavern until he forgets whatever memory she has brought to his mind. She wants to ravish that mouth until he tugs her closer, slips his hot hands under her shirt, lays his palms flat on her sensitive, warm, skin, slides them up until the tips of his fingers brush her breasts. Until she forgets her own melancholy, her reasons for lingering with this glass of wine in this crowded bar.

But it's not their time, not yet. His eyes stay trained on her, watching her like it _is_, but the only thing it's time for is for her to leave. She has to.  
>Kate slides her hand out of his, and stands, his eyes clouding with regret as he watches her. "It's late," she tells him. She wants to say more, but the connection must be broken before she presses her body to his and wraps her arms around him. She needs to put space between them before she drops hot, open-mouthed kisses to his neck, feels his pulse as she slides her lips across his skin, above tendons, and arteries, and uses him to feel alive, to forget a relationship that leaves her empty and cold.<p>

She's not that person.

His arm drapes across her shoulder, and he draws her in, and, _god_, this is the opposite of what he should be doing right now. It's little more than an awkward, sideways hug, because he clearly needs it. It's brief, just a gentle squeeze, before he releases her.

"What was that for?" she asks, her feet refusing to move, frozen in place by something so small.

"Let me take you home," he says in response.

Her eyes widen, she can feel her face showing the surprise she would have preferred to keep hidden.

He chuckles softly, and shakes his head. "Share a cab, Beckett. That's all I meant."

His voice so full of mirth that she just wants to kiss that smirk right off his lips, but she chooses to nod instead.

There are sudden occasions, fleeting moments that descend upon her swiftly, and vanish just as quick, when she is reminded of what Castle once meant to her, but it's what he means to her now that stays with her. Always. It fills her heart with love, but she shouldn't be putting a name to it.

It's not their time yet.


	6. Chapter 6

**This chapter starts _pre-series_, moves through _Under the Gun_, to end as a slightly altered _TLaDiLA_ filler.**

* * *

><p>"Hey, Kid," Royce said, watching Beckett as she slumped down in her chair, tired, and angry, and blaming herself. "You did good."<p>

Kate tore her head out of her hands, and looked up, forcing her bleary eyes to focus on her Training Officer. "He's gonna get away with it," she reminded him, voice breaking in anger at herself. "Because of me."

"He won't," Royce told her. "They're out there right now looking for him."

"I almost had him," she lamented.

"He shot at you, if it's anyone's fault he got away it's mine for not having your back."

"You had your own situation to deal with," she reminded him. "He was right in front of me, and I choked." With a gun pointed at her, all her training had meant nothing in that moment; her courage had faltered, and the suspect had fired - off to her left, a warning shot, not really aimed at her, but enough to give him a chance to bolt while she reached for her own gun. She had fired, and missed him, and she'd never felt more green than in that moment, a Rookie in over her head. God, she hated herself for it. And now Royce was working through the paperwork with her, helping her with all the damn forms she had to fill out for discharging her weapon.

"Enough," her T.O said in a firm tone. "There are people on this, there's nothing more we can do tonight." He pushed a form across the desk to her. "Sign that, and then let's go."

Beckett frowned as she read over the report and signed her name, but didn't move from behind the desk. "Go where?" she asked, handing him back the paperwork.

"To a little bar I know."

She shook her head and folded her arms across her chest. "No. Thank you, but no."

Royce stood and gestured for her to stand. "Stop being so damn stubborn."

"My dad-"

"Won't care if you have a drink tonight. You're coming, and that's final."

* * *

><p>From the moment the wine glass touched her lips she knew it wouldn't be just one drink. Not tonight. The wine was sharp on her tongue, it slid down her throat like razor blades, slicing through her resolve, opening old wounds, until she was bleeding out. With a loosened tongue, all her anguish over the day's failures flowed out of her.<p>

"Let it out, Kid."

When she had finished berating herself, she met his eyes and huffed out a short frustrated breath. "I'm sorry."

"Are you done?"

She nodded, but there was no truth in the action.

"Good. Now move on."

She huffed out another breath. "Because it's that easy?"

"In this line of work it has to be."

"I've never been very good at moving on."

"Listen, Kid, you did nothing wrong today. If that shot you'd fired off had hit him I'd be introducing you to a whole new bunch of forms." Her lips remained down-turned, and her long lashes hid her eyes from him, and he knew he was in for one hell of a fight before she would let this go. "We'll get him tomorrow. Forget about it now."

"I don't know how to forget," she whispered. She looked down into her glass, at what little alcohol remained. "My dad tries, but I don't think he ever really forgets, just masks the pain for a while."

It was in that moment that Mike Royce began to understand Kate Beckett. "You want to catch the sonofabitch who murdered your mom, I know this. But you won't survive here if you don't learn how to unwind at the end of the day. One day you will wake up and you won't come in to the precinct. You won't be able to face another day of it."

When she opened her mouth to argue, he lifted his hand and held it up to silence her. "I'm not saying you drink until you're numb. But you gotta learn how to talk, Kid. You have to let people in. Because they're gonna need your shoulder, and your ear, just as much as you need theirs."

"I'm not very good at asking for help," she told him.

"No shit," he replied, throwing her a wry smile. "This guy? We'll get him tomorrow," he told her. "And mistakes? As long as you keep learning from them, and don't let them eat away at you, you'll be fine."

"And as long as they don't get you killed."

"I trained you; you won't get anyone killed."

Kate released a long sigh and dropped her shoulders in defeat. "Yeah. So, we'll get him tomorrow," she agreed, before draining her glass. "I still feel like a rookie."

"That's because you are one."

He raised a hand, and ordered another round, and they let the alcohol take the edge off the day.

* * *

><p>She was in awe of him, and she could admit that to herself. There was an air about him that piqued her interest and kept her guessing. He seemed so battle-hardened, so wise, so much more than she would ever be.<p>

Another rough day, and here they were, holed up in the same loud, dark, sticky bar, Beckett sticking to her self-imposed three-drink limit, Royce nursing yet another beer, both tending to the other's wounds. Hers physical this time, a graze on her cheek where it had impacted with a brick wall. She was lucky not to have fractured her cheekbone or eye socket. Here he was, watching over her, making sure she went home a little more upbeat, the pain dulled.

"How you doing, Kate?"

The use of her name broke her out of her reverie, and she blinked to focus her tired eyes on him. "Hmmm?"

"You okay?"

He was smiling, watching her in amusement and concern. The father-figure she seemed to have been adopted by while she mended her relationship with her own father. "Yeah," she told him. "I'm doing okay now. Thank you."

"Anytime."

Despite his worn exterior, Mike Royce had a heart of gold; without him she would have drowned already, would have succumbed to the undertow and given up. She appreciated him, was so grateful for him, and maybe even a little bit in love with him. But she pushed that feeling down, refused to let it take hold of her, understood it as a form of hero-worship, and grounded herself, altered how she saw him. She kept it platonic. Because that was all this was meant to be.

* * *

><p>She let him into her apartment one evening; she had been on-call but her phone hadn't buzzed once, and one look at the man swaying on his feet outside her door and she knew it had been bad.<p>

"Why wasn't I called in?"

He stumbled in, making his way to her couch before slumping down on it. Head in his hands, he took a moment.

"What happened?" The couch dipped as she sat beside him, coaxing the day's events out of him with a soothing tone and a soft touch to his upper arm.

"We lost Mayer," he told her, defeated and weary.

Beckett inhaled a short breath of air. "What do you mean by lost?"

"The bastards took him down, two shots straight to the chest. He was gone before the bus arrived."

She saw the blood on his shirt then, partially hidden. Her hands reached for it, and brushed the stiff material of his jacket away to inspect the damage.

"Not mine."

She pulled her hand back, and her eyes were wide as she lifted them to meet his. "Mayer is gone?" It had started to hit her, really sink in.

"Stephens is telling his wife. I couldn't- I had to leave."

The alcohol on his breath told her this had all happened earlier, that Mrs Mayer's world was in tatters around her, and she could only hope friends and family were helping with the pieces. "Did you walk here?"

He nodded.

She worried her lower lip for a moment. It was late now, close to midnight. She should have sent him home, put him in the back of a cab, or in the back of her own car. But the words tumbled out, and with each syllable she regretted it a little more. "You need to crash here?" she asked.

"You mind?"

She shook her head no. But it wasn't the first time someone she cared deeply for had drunkenly crashed on her couch, and as she found him pillows and blankets she tried not to focus on how the men in her life seemed so much alike. How the pedestals always snapped, in such similar, heartbreaking ways.

* * *

><p>He was gone when she awoke. The neatly folded blankets, the pillows on top, the slight scent of alcohol that lingered on them, the only signs he had been there.<p>

She arrived at the precinct and it was like it had never happened. He didn't thank her, didn't mention it at all, and she followed suit - and they continued on.

Until it happened again. A rough day. Alcohol. Him. Her apartment. His absence the next morning.

And again.

And again.

And in between they never spoke of it. Why he would always find himself at her door; why she always let him in.

It was destructive, for both of them.

It had to stop.

And she knew that she loved him. It wasn't romantic love, it was more dangerous than that. More dangerous for her. She loved Royce, who was more closed off than herself, who drank to numb the pain, who she knew almost nothing about, yet who knew more about her mother than she had ever allowed anyone to know before; Royce, whose apartment she had never seen, who never spoke of his life outside of the precinct, who kept too much of himself guarded from her. She loved him, and it had to stop, because she knew he could never love her back. Her father-figure had no room in his life for a daughter.

* * *

><p>She moved up. He moved on.<p>

He turned up on her doorstep, after his last day at the precinct, more drunk than she had ever seen him, and she was too sober to deal with it.

"We're done, Royce. Whatever this relationship was, it's over."

He swayed, and leaned heavily against the door-frame to stay on his feet. "Gonna miss you, Kid."

"You made this decision," she reminded him. He could have stayed, but a job offer he refused to talk about had attracted his attention and he was leaving.

"Your life is better without me in it."

She held her head high, her strong, confident stance belying her pain.

He rested his head against the wood, and blinked rapidly. "Take care of yourself."

"You too."

And then he eased himself away from his crutch, stepped back, and she closed the door. On him.

On them.

She spent the rest of the evening coming to terms with the loss of him.

And then she moved on too - and phoned her dad.

* * *

><p>But she remembered him. She'd hear the word 'kid' and in her mind it would be his voice, but it never was. She refused to return to that bar, but sometimes, on quiet evenings, alone in her apartment, she would sip that wine, from those early days, before his own darkness consumed them both, back when he was the one pulling her to the surface, and she could breathe again. He stayed with her, through the years, a voice in her head guiding her through tough situations, or a phantom touch, like a hand on her back, guiding her through the corridors of the precinct. Always with her, keeping her head up; her lifeline. Through it all she missed him fiercely.<p>

And then he showed up, just as battle-worn and fascinating as ever.

Arresting him tore her heart apart.

His death tore her world apart.

* * *

><p>Kate sits on the couch in the lavish hotel room in L.A, and brings her phone to her ear. She blocks out the sounds of Castle clinking glasses together, and listens.<p>

She listens to Royce's voice, a ghost speaking to her now, his words chilling her, her own regrets clamping around her heart.

She had missed his call. If she had answered would he still be alive now? She feels the tears prick at her eyes, threatening to fall, but she refuses them that freedom. She replays his message, again, suppressing her emotions this time, listening for clues. But there's nothing more to be gained from his message, and so she ends the call. She doesn't delete it - she might never.

"Anything?" Castle asks as he joins her on the couch.

She lifts her red-rimmed eyes to him, and shakes her head.

"And, in the note?" he asks carefully.

Again she can merely shake her head.

He hands her a glass of wine, which she accepts with a slight shake in her hand. She's investigating Royce's murder, listening to his voice, reading his words, and it's all so much harder than she had imagined. She is grateful for Castle's stubbornness; for once she is thankful he didn't listen to her and followed her to L.A. She isn't convinced she could have done this without him.

"Royce," she murmurs his name sadly into her wine glass, before taking a slow sip. She swallows, and glances up to meet Castle's eyes. He's desperately curious for information, and she's holding back. She won't allow him to listen to the voice message, and she won't allow him to read the letter, but she needs to give him more than she has. "I was so in awe of him, Castle, when I first met him," she tells him, smiling at the memory, smiling through her pain. "I just hung on his every word. And then, later, I realized he was just making up stories to mess with me. I can't believe that I'm never gonna see him again." It hurts her heart to speak those thoughts out loud, makes it clench and twist in her chest.

"You know what I thought when I first met you?"

"Mmm?" she asks, confused as to why this has suddenly become about her.

"That you were a mystery I was never gonna solve. Even now, after spending all this time with you, I'm still amazed at the depths of your strength, your heart. And your hotness."

She gets it then. "You're not so bad yourself, Castle."

There's a spark in the air, swirling around them, drawing them both in. The current is running through her, and she can't break this connection. She can't look away, can't stand up, can't leave the room.

Her buzzing phone breaks the moment, and she snaps her gaze to it.

"The case?"

Beckett shakes her head. "Josh." A message from her boyfriend, whose impeccable timing is like bucket of cold water over both their heads.

"Did you love him?"

Castle's question throws her, and she blinks rapidly as she tries to focus on him. "Do I love Josh?" she asks, confused.

"Royce," he corrects. "You said once, you'd been in love with him. I-"

"To keep him on the line," she reminds him, a sad smile tugging at her lips. "I cared deeply for him, but it was never like that. That wasn't the kind of relationship we had."

Castle nods. "And how is Josh?"

"On-call," she murmurs. "Checking in with me. Making sure I'm okay."

"He thinks you're out here alone," he surmises.

"Yeah."

It's all just a little too confusing right now. The man she loved like a father, gone. The man she feels herself falling in love with, beside her. The man she will never love, on another coast. She holds Castle's gaze, his eyes burning into her, and the current is back, consuming her.

"I think we should call it a night," he says gently.

She blinks away the tears, and forces a smile. Tears for Royce, a smile for Castle.

"But, if you need me," he says, his voice stilted, unsure, because she's not one to admit to needing someone. "I'm here."

"I know," she says gently. "Thank you."

He nods, and stands. He holds out a hand to her, and she accepts it, letting her smaller hand be engulfed in the warmth of his, allowing him to pull her to her feet. He squeezes her hand, just once, before he lets it go. "Goodnight, Kate."

* * *

><p>They go their separate ways, retreat to their individual rooms, and sit on their beds. They face the wall that comes between them, both looking straight at one another without even realizing it.<p>

This man that she cares for, that she loves, that she is falling _in love_ with for all the right reasons.

This woman who is seemingly forever just out of his reach, but who has his heart completely.


	7. Chapter 7

**I'm can't believe I'm doing this but I know people react negatively to Becksposito stuff, so just be warned that some pre-series action between them is vaguely hinted at in the first few sentences. Skip if it offends you.**

* * *

><p><strong><em>Knockout<em> filler/post-ep**

* * *

><p>Her arms wrap around Esposito and she embraces her friend, her cheek grazing his, bodies flush. It's a touch awkward with the audience, with Ryan and Castle flanking them, quietly waiting.<p>

They used to do this, used to find comfort in one another, without the clothing, without any strings or other attachments, but they ceased the touches, the evenings spent with one another, years ago. It's platonic now, friends with a history bringing one another comfort, but the flashes of memories take hold, and she finds herself pulling back out of the embrace quickly, offering him a soft smile as she does so.

From Espo's arms she turns and is pulled into Ryan's. It's a brief hug, just enough to seal the deal made here tonight.

Ryan and Espo leave without a comment on Castle's hesitance, on the fact he's lingering in the background and not making any move to follow them. They've sensed a change in the relationship, but now is not the time to ask questions. For now they will let her and Castle be.

She turns to Castle once she has closed the door, and it's just the two of them in her dimly-lit apartment, standing at opposite ends of her living room, staring one another down.

Silence hangs heavy and thick between them. There's still anger amidst the heartache and pain; it's residual, persistent, and tonight they need to fix it. Without a word, she turns from him and pads into her kitchen. The fridge hisses as the seal releases, the bottle of white wine clinks against the shelf as she pulls it free; sounds fill the space between them, noise from everything but their mouths. A dark, desperate deal was made in this apartment tonight, and words are causing her too much pain now.

He makes his way over to her when she holds a full glass up to him, and he reaches across the kitchen island to take it from her. He nods his thank you, and the island remains between them.

His phone comes to life, the short pings muffled but audible, and they're both jolted by the suddenness of it. He tugs it from his pocket, and reads the message to himself. He taps back a quick reply, and pockets his phone once more. "Alexis," he tells Kate.

"She okay?"

He nods. "But I have to go."

"Okay." Short replies, her tone still laced with hurt.

"Are you going to be-"

"I'm fine, Castle."

He tilts his head, eyes showing his concern as they lock on her. "Is Josh coming by?"

She gives him a rueful smile. "Josh was called in."

"Come home with me." Her lips part slightly in surprise, and he realizes how that sounded a moment too late, and fumbles to explain. "Stay in my guestroom, I mean. None of us should be alone tonight."

"I think I need to be," she replies. "Thank you, Castle, but I'll be fine here."

"You won't sleep."

"I know," she responds, the words expelled on a short puff of air. When she drags herself from a bed not slept in she will be dressing for her captain's funeral. The losses this year are suffocating her; there are too many betrayals to be forgiven.

She might need him when she wakes up. She might need him now.

But she'll never admit it to him.

"I'm sorry," he tells her.

She falters at his words, swallows down the mouthful of wine, and places her glass down hard on the counter. Neither the base nor stem break, but the sound of the glass hitting the counter top jolts her. He has spoken those words too much recently, but in that moment she is transported back to a hangar, and carried out of it against her will; she is outside, the harsh wind whipping around her, and pressed back until she feels the cold, hard body of a car jutting into her, his own body leaning over her and keeping her from rushing in and being killed. She feels his hand covering her mouth, feels his breath as it warms and dampens her palm now pressed against his own lips. His low, murmured, raw and pained, _I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry_. The scene replays, again and again. More vivid with each repeat. The kitchen, her living room, the familiar areas comes back into focus as the cold wind dissipates, but she can still feel his hand against her lips, covering her mouth, keeping her from screaming her anguish. She can still feel his lips against her own hand, keeping him from whispering one more heartbroken, _I'm sorry_. Keeping him from saying anything _more_.

Her fingers clench around the kitchen island; her churning stomach and the wavering in her legs threaten to drag her to the floor. "Don't," she forces out harshly. "Don't say it again."

He frowns then. "I'm sorry?" he asks, innocent and truly concerned. Oblivious to the effect his words are having on her.

"Stop apologizing," she warns through tightly clenched teeth, her roiling stomach.

The low persistent bubble of anger that's been simmering since before they lost Montgomery threatens to boil over now. Right here, in this apartment, just a few nights prior, words had been thrown back and forth, and he had walked out. They haven't spoken of it, haven't had a chance to work past it. They hadn't even spoken until her hoarse voice had screamed at him to put her down, to let her help her captain.

But he's still here, the island still between them, a few steps closer to her but keeping his distance. He hasn't walked out, despite his need to return to his daughter. She's wary of another person she cares deeply for betraying her. The year has taken its toll, and it's only half over. But through all the loss, amidst all the frustrations, something has happened. They've changed. She's still learning how to let him in, it's still too easy to push him away.

Throwing him a sad attempt at a smile, she pushes away from the kitchen island, and moves around to him. Reaching out her hand, she holds it up, until their palms meet, and his fingers fill the spaces between her own. "Go home to your family." It sounds more like a question than a command.

"Come with me."

She is hesitant, caught between _yes_ and _no_. Her head bowed, she blinks away the threatening tears, sucks in a breath, and then slowly lifts her head.

And nods just once.

* * *

><p>He leads her up the stairs, even though she knows the way. He leads her down the short hall, and to the guest room door. Her hand falls on the handle, and she graces him with a smile. The anger has dissipated, despite the fact they still haven't spoken about it. She felt it start to loosen while he watched her pack a small bag, felt it began to fall away from her when he rested a hand at the small of her back as they left her apartment. It disappeared, lost to the busy streets and bright lights of Manhattan, during the drive to his loft. And when they stepped into his warm, cozy home, the silent, but smarting, rift between them was gone. Now when she smiles at him in his hallway there is no anger marring it, there are only hints of pain in the slight down-turned corners of her lips from the loss of a mentor and friend.<p>

He leans forward, his hands twitch, and she reads his body language. Lifting her hand from the cool metal handle, she presses her palm gently to his chest, and keeps him from embracing her. "Good night, Castle."

Disappointment in his eyes is quickly replaced with understanding. "Try to sleep," he tells her, straightening his spine, and stepping back.

"I will." She opens the door, steps into the bedroom, but gives him a one last soft smile over her shoulder before closing the door and shutting him out.

She's so good at shutting him out.

* * *

><p>Too many gravestones now bear the names of those dear to her. Too many times has she borne the weight of another death. Her shoulders falter now under the strain, but it goes unseen. Muscles taut, she moves through the cemetery, her family moving with her, bearing the weight with her this time.<p>

When she speaks, her words hold only truths.

_"Roy Montgomery taught me what it meant to be a cop. He taught me that we are bound by our choices, but we are more than our mistakes. Captain Montgomery once said to me that, for us, there is no victory. There are only battles. And, in the end, the best you could hope for is to find a place to make your stand. And if you're very lucky, you find someone willing to stand with you. Our captain would want us to carry on the fight. And even if there is one…"_

She hears her name yelled in alarm, feels the sharp pain in her chest. It catches her off-guard, she stumbles backwards, confused, and in pain.

Kate hits the dirt hard, but it's Castle's body that has sent her to the ground, and she feels the impact in her bones, the reverberations inside her skull as her head falls back.

The pain burns through her, and she clenches her teeth as her vision blurs.

Castle lets out a low groan, landing beside her to avoid slamming his body on top of hers. Last night's rain had done little to soften the ground beneath them.

There's yelling, so much noise around them. She sucks air into her lungs, trying to get her breath back, but the short, sharp gasps of air only cause her more pain, and the dizziness is threatening to win this one. The fear and confusion swirls together, a flurry of activity as people spread out around them. She feels the vibrations beneath her, jolting through her, as people run. So much yelling, so much noise.

And then there's a hand on her, moving over her uniform, searching, shaking, before stilling, and pressing down hard. Another curls behind her neck, unintentionally jolting her more. Why does it all hurt so much?

All the background noise begins to fade out; she can't focus her eyes anymore, the pain too much for even her to bear. It's all too much now.

* * *

><p>She awakes to Josh's touch, but with Castle's voice in her head. Words spoken desperately while she fought to cling to the last gossamer-thin threads of consciousness.<p>

_Don't leave me_.

_I love you_.

She forces smiles, responds to Josh's words, but all she can think about is Castle. How much she needs Castle.

But when he comes, when she sees his face, the relief, the_ love_, she lets fear win once more.

* * *

><p>"<em>I love you, Kate. I love you<em>."

His voice eases her from the darkness, and she blinks against the whiteness of the room as she drifts back to awareness. White walls, bright lights, it hurts. Not as much as her chest, but it still stings.

The room is empty. The dream so vivid she could have sworn he was in her room with her, but she's alone. Like she wanted to be.

"_I'll call you_." Her last words to him before he had complied, and walked out of the hospital. She eases up in the bed, and surveys the room. A large bouquet of bright yellow sunflowers sit beside her on the small bedside table, standing proudly amidst the smaller bouquets she had awoken to post-op. Castle's flowers hidden amongst them. These sunflowers are new, in a yellow vase, a yellow ribbon tied at the narrowest part. So much yellow; she's sure it must all mean something.

Friends and family visit throughout the day, fill her in on events, brings her items to stave off boredom, but she doesn't ask about Castle. Lanie mentions his name once, and it's then she realizes how hard this will be.

She requests no visitors for the next week, pushing away everyone except her own father, not even allowing Josh into the room in the very hospital he works in. She's tired, she needs to rest.

It's then that she begins to make arrangements with her father to spend her recovery in his cabin.

She rests, and heals, and counts down the days, and each new morning brings another bouquet of flowers, another vase, another ribbon...

* * *

><p><strong>So I had this idea to<strong>** connect this story to _Uncharted, _to give it all a little more hope_._ The continuity in the two fics isn't perfect, because this was a recent decision to link them, but I think _Uncharted_ can be read as a continuation of sorts to _On-Call_ :) I'll post _Uncharted_ on ffnet soon. **  
><strong>And don't forget to check out <em>Hangups and Hookups <em>for the M-rated Josh-free version of _On-Call_. **


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